


Can't Go Forward (Just Look Back)

by aseariel



Category: Diablo III
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Kormac's thing for Eirena is mentioned in passing, Snarky fluff, not really intended as romantic but you could read it that way if you wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseariel/pseuds/aseariel
Summary: Just a quiet conversation between Lyndon and the female demon hunter near the end of Act V (after the completion of Lyndon's mission & follow-up but before facing Malthael).





	Can't Go Forward (Just Look Back)

“It isn't pity.”

Lyndon peered up blearily at the demon hunter, drink still dulling the edges of his senses. “Sorry?” He dragged out the sibilance, sarcastic more from habit than intent. 

“It isn't pity that moves me. It is unpleasant to see you in pain.”

He laughed. “Can't say I'm particularly fond of it either,” he offered with mock cheeriness. 

She frowned. 

“I suppose I should be grateful, though. Not many gaps in your armor-” he eyed her up and down, “at least not metaphorically speaking, and I'm delighted to know I found a way through.”

She sighed, but even in his partially inebriated state he caught a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that was almost a smile. A memory of a smile, perhaps, or a ghost. She folded her arms. “Lyndon.”

“Yes, dear lady?”

She opened her mouth, closed it. She looked away. “I'm sorry we didn't leave for Kingsport sooner. We had reasons, good reasons, but I suspect that’s not much comfort to either of us.”

He started to speak with the intent of snarking at her, but the intensity in her distant gaze gave him pause. Perhaps he could afford to be a little honest. “No,” he said after a soft sigh, “it isn't.”

She nodded once in acknowledgement. “I'm sorry.”

“It isn't your fault.”

“No. But it weighs on me, all the same.”

Lyndon fidgeted briefly with the dark glass bottle he’d been nursing for the majority of the evening before holding it out. 

She cocked her head, eyeing it - and him - briefly before accepting and taking an investigatory sniff. She grimaced, took a swig, and then offered it back. 

“You'll go with me, though. When we’re done here.” It wasn't exactly a question, he wasn't exactly asking, but it didn't feel safe to assume, either. Not that anything felt safe anymore.

She licked her lips, grimacing again at the remaining bitterness of the cheap whiskey clinging to them. “Yes, Lyndon. I owe you that.”

He laughed, and she frowned at him. “Sorry, sorry, just - the thought of the hero of Westmarch owing me anything? Struck me as particularly funny today.”

Her look didn't soften, exactly, but the edge shifted elsewhere, as did her eyes. “Ah. Well. I mean it, all the same.”

“I know.” The words were quiet, almost gentle. Almost grateful. “And, after that,” he said, returning to his more laid-back manner of speaking, “I’ll take you for a proper drink.”

She snorted. “Oh?”

“Mm. You, Eirena, even Kormac if we can drag him.”

“If you can convince Eirena, I believe that will sort itself.”

Lyndon’s eyebrows rose. “You don't say?” He rubbed at his chin. 

“Don't,” she said. 

“Don't what?” he asked innocently. 

“Whatever you're thinking.” The ghost of a smile was back, more in her voice than in her lips. “Don't.”

“You know I'm entirely incapable of leaving well enough alone, don't you?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

“No,” he said cheerily. “You shouldn't have. But what's passed is past. We’ll drink to that, too, and all the other things that might have been.”

Her expression turned thoughtful, and he suspected she was lending more weight to the words than he’d intended. She often did. “It is like a ritual, of sorts.”

“Sure, if you want to take all the fun out of it.”

“That _is_ what I do.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Was that a joke? Does the lady learn more than new and exciting ways to disembowel demons and goatmen?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said, expression entirely neutral.

“Remind me never to play poker against you.”

“Why? You'd cheat anyway.”

“Of course,” he said airily, “but I'm not certain I'd win, and that is the highest compliment I will ever pay you.”

“I would think you like a challenge.”

“That depends entirely on what I'm risking and what the reward is.”

She nodded, considering. “Fair. But for now, you should probably get some sleep.”

He raised his bottle in salute before downing the remainder of the contents. “Fair,” he echoed. He got unsteadily to his feet, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly for balance as much as a gesture of camaraderie. “Goodnight, demon slayer.”

She snorted. “Goodnight, Lyndon.” Her hand rested on his a moment before he withdrew, staggering his way to his tent where he collapsed into largely dreamless slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a line in the song "Harm" by David Francey.


End file.
